


from primrose to poppy

by yikesbirb



Category: Ao no Exorcist | Blue Exorcist
Genre: Death, F/F, Gen, Gore, Nightmares, Possibly Depressing Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 10:32:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3525992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yikesbirb/pseuds/yikesbirb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it's said someone dies twice: once when they draw their last breath and once when their name is spoken for the last time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	from primrose to poppy

**Author's Note:**

> A thank you to inuyoshie (on tumblr) for this prompt of a sorts. :)

Shiemi can't breathe.

She's choking. The smell of antiseptic burning her nostrils and the fetid stench of rotten meat clogs her lungs. Her throat. She's gagging. Screaming. Crying.  _She can't breathe-!_

And Izumo.

Oh, god,  _Izumo_.

The purple-haired girl is falling apart at the seams. Muscles and flesh sloughing off her very bones as she rots alive, choking on her own lungs as they collapse. Shiemi is holding her, irrationally trying to hold her together, sobbing. All the while her own heart pounding out condemnation—too late, too late, too late they are too late. 

 _Forgive me, forgive me, I'm so sorry_.

The only thing keeping Izumo alive is the very thing that's killing her. The nine-tails keeps her from dying while simultaneously destroying her from within. Shiemi has never hated as much as she hates the ninetails. It’s visceral, immediate. Shiemi hates so much its clenches her gut and brings bile to her throat . Her heart is full to bursting with such pure loathing that she wants to scream.

Scream at the demon to give Izumo back, to give her back give her back  _give her back she's not yours!_

Scream at the Illuminati and how dare they, how dare they, this was her friend, her precious, precious friend  _look what you've done_!

Scream at Renzo for betraying, lying to them, not once but twice, and  _look what you've wrought are you happy now? Was your mission worth this?!_

Scream at the exwires to stop standing there. Stop staring. Stop looking so broken down and hopeless because Izumo is still here they can still do something she can still be saved—Yukio _do something!_

_Stop staring!_ she all but howls. 

(On the edge of her hearing, she swears she hears that demon _laughing_.) 

Izumo is still alive, still gurgling, and Shiemi wants to scream some more. She wants Izumo to just die already, just die, please, just stopstopstop she can't take it anymore she can't brea—and she hates herself more than she even hates the demon lurking beneath her friends bubbling skin. She wants this to be a dream. A horrible nightmare. Because this can't be real it just can't. Because Izumo was so strong. Stronger than she even knew and it couldn't end this way. It can't—

The dying girl makes a noise and the blonde clenches her closer, choking on bile and tears and decay, and leans closer yet, drawing the putrid scents deep into her lungs along with the stink of alcohol, to imprint herself forever with this failure and sin, and strains her ears to hear Izumo's words. 

Her eyes are clear, Shiemi thinks. Detached. Like a balloon disappearing into the stratosphere she's falling away, away, away and Izumo's eyes are clear. Wrong-slitted pupils, irises more gold than haughty burgundy, sclera black, and there's blood trickling from them like tears—but clear. Aware. Accusing.

 _Why didn't you save me?_ She begs, tone pleading yet hateful. _I thought I was your friend!_

 _You were, I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry, please forgive me, I'm sorry, Izumo I—_ she wants to say but it's already too late she can't br—there's a pain in Shiemi's back as Izumo pierces her through. Rips her in two down the middle—

Shiemi awakes with an aborted scream on her lips and bile her throat.

She barely makes it to the toilet before her dinner from hours before spews out of her in violent heaves. Only a small moment passes after she finishes, then she's stumbling to her feet once more, rushing from the house, and running to the garden. Her knees give out just as she arrives, trembling, to her particular shard of grief. A patch of the most beautiful, the best, the greatest and most lovely gardenias, marigolds, and primroses her garden can muster.

The tamer's chest is tight, aching. More screams are building in her throat. She doesn't howl, however, choking them back, choking on air.

Tears stream freely down her face in river of pain as she reaches out a shaky hand to caress a large stone amongst the flowers. There are characters carved into it and she doesn't need to see them to know what they are. Only needs to run shivering fingers over them for the shrapnel in her heart to explode anew.

There had been no body to bury. Izumo had decomposed to nothing but dust. No funeral, either, beyond the small ceremony that the exwires had had. Nothing more than a placement of the stone amongst the flowers of the little garden Shiemi had so carefully prepared. She remembers how the sun had shone with mocking cheer over their grief. Remembers Yukio's stony face, Rin's silent tears, Konekomaru's uneven breathing, and the blistering fury etched into Ryuji's face, twisting it like a gargoyle.

(She remembers too, Renzo at the gate, waiting but never entering, never asking to enter, and not daring to say a word when his former friends filed past. He had looked at her almost pleadingly and she had closed the gate in his face.)

 _Kamiki Izumo_ , says the grave marker.

No more. No less. They hadn't been able to find the words.

Shiemi shudders and withdraws, curling in on herself, biting her lip until it bleeds to keep quiet. She rides out her grief silently until there are no more tears to give. For tonight, at least. Her breathing evens out and her eyes close.

If she dares, she could remember another time like this. A time in the height of summer, where the sun shone bright, the warm air clung to skin, and there were no worries. She could remember two girls sprawled somewhere among the flowers and vines, skin dirty and sweaty. Remember the not quite start of something. The planting of a seed that never bloomed but decayed along with Izumo. The feeling of her lips against another's skin and the painful hesitancy as two hands, one calloused and one soft, intertwined.

But she does not dare.

Does not dare to bare her most precious memory against the agony that shrouds here. In fear that it will fade to bleakness under the weight of what-ifs and could-have-beens.

It is long after sunrise before Shiemi finally rises.

Her night kimono is rumpled, her face is a mess of dirt mixed with tears. Her hair lays in disarray without a single strand in place. The house remains silent when she returns. Her mother had moved, unable to handle the shattered glass storm that had become her daughter or the everyday thoughts that it was somehow her fault, raising a child in this environment, within an exorcist's life. Shiemi refused to move with her.

 _This is my home and hers_ , she had said.

 _Izumo is dead!_ her mother had screamed.

Shiemi had had nothing to say to that, nothing that wouldn't drive them further apart, and had kept her mouth stubbornly shut. Her eyes, however, had betrayed her.

 _No she's not,_ they'd said. She was there, constantly, in the bleeding mess that was the green-eyed girl's heart.

Her mother had shouted then and Shiemi had shouted too until there was nothing between them. Until her mother had packed, left, and never looked back.

Shiemi sighs at the memory.

She hadn't meant the awful things she said in that argument. Perhaps her mother hadn't meant hers either, but neither of them tried to reconnect. Neither of them make any attempts now.

Two years and the wound rubs too raw for Shiemi to even attempt fixing anything.

She readies herself for the day, bathing, dressing, and grooming herself with a slowness that permeates her life. A stagnancy. The day passes without fuss—the world right and well, ruthlessly moving on once more without Izumo in it—the monotony breaking only when Rin turns up.

He is a full-fledged exorcist, now, along with her, Konekomaru, Ryuji, and Renzo, whom she almost never sees. Konekomaru visited frequently for a while before fading away. Ryuji comes by regularly, yet, for supplies but never spoke to her. Renzo hasn’t come by once. And she is, strangely, eternally grateful for this. She doesn't know how she would react. If she could keep her feelings straight. Is unsure if she can ever find forgiveness for the boy, now a man, and is somehow afraid she  _can_.

Yukio is still missing. Still alive but nonetheless gone. Leaving only a trail to let them—Rin and herself—know he's around but not enough to find him.

"Rin," she greets, softly. Unable to muster a smile but still able to put warmth into her voice.

He smiles as eagerly as before Izumo's death. Not as wide, not as bright, but equally enthusiastic and alive.

"Shiemi! Here for the usual of course, well, I need some high-grade holy water, in addition to that, so, not quite the usual, but yeah," he replies, easy and smooth.

The tamer nods, her long hair swaying with the motion, before moving about the shop. She gathers the items quickly. Ticking off a mental checklist in her head. Her steps are not as heavy as before. Rin always has a way of making her feel lighter.

She rings up the total just as swiftly, bags the items efficiently, and makes to hand the off to Rin when he grabs her hand, catching her eye.

The half-demon flinches, as if struck, asking, "You were out with—I mean, at ‘er grave again, weren't ya?"

 _You had the nightmare again, you are still hurting, aren't you?_  He doesn't say but she hears, anyway.

Shiemi nods again.

There's no use denying it. He can probably see it in her face. Her lip is still split and she knows her eyes are red. Or maybe he smells the flowers on her. He has gotten rather good at distinguishing flower scents over the years. She wouldn't want to deny it, anyway.

"Are ya—"

"—I'm fine," Shiemi says. Insists. She even smiles.

Rin doesn't believe her any more than he'd believed her last week. But he doesn't have the words to say. Doesn't even know where he could begin helping his friend piece herself together.

So, he smiles, too.

"Okay," he agrees.

Rin doesn't let go of her hand, staring into her eyes.  _I'm here, I'm here. Just reach out to me I'm here…_

"See you again, Rin," she returns, dismissing him.

He leaves.

Rinse and repeat.

The days grow longer and shorter, longer, shorter, longer and the process continues. A year goes by. Another.

Her garden stands no less beautiful but fiercer now. Weeds are not stubbornly pruned and Shiemi doesn't bother to stop the flowers from growing beyond their little plots. Instead she lets them run together like a modern jungle.

She still has nightmares. She still sobs in the night sometimes but never vomits anymore. She visits the little corner of the garden holding Izumo's grave less during the day, now. Rin visits her as always and as always she pretends she's okay. Even starts to believe it herself. But Yukio is still missing, she and Ryuji never exchange words, she's seen Konekomaru maybe once. Renzo never comes around. Izumo is gone.

Another year.

Somehow, Shiemi's heart stops bleeding. It still aches and twinges but it no longer rips open at the slightest touch.

Sometimes she pauses during the day, struck with a memory, a sensation. Sometimes good; forgotten moments when she and Izumo shared sincere words and laughter. Sometimes bad; she'll never forget Izumo's wrecked body for as long as she lives, it will haunt her forever.

She doesn't visit the grave in the day anymore. Finds herself busier and busier, with little projects and the shop. For some reason, Rin hangs around more and more. He seems to believe her when she says she's okay now. Nightmares continue to wake her screaming. Shiemi still runs to the little piece of agony within her garden. Just less frequently.

She's forgotten the feel of rot in her lungs.

More and more times passes and somehow Shiemi can laugh with Rin again. Somehow finds the courage to smile at Ryuji when he comes by. Finds herself contemplating calling up Konekomaru. She thinks about her mother for the first time in years. Wonders about Yukio.

She doesn't visit the little, worn stone with Izumo's name on it anymore. Not even in the dark of night. Izumo never strays far from her thoughts but thinking of her brings less pain than it did before. She hopes the gardenias, marigolds, and primroses are still growing strong. Thinks perhaps she'll transplant them to other parts of the garden soon.

She still wakes up screaming, sometimes.

Another year, another day, and Shiemi wakes up with tears on her face. She is not afraid. She is not drowning in grief. She no longer knows the sting of antiseptic in her nostrils, or remember with full clarity the horror she felt that day, and her chest is not tight.

It aches, though, in the best sort of way, she decides, remembering the dream.

There are only snatches of it, now. The harder she tries to hold onto it the more it moves away. She still sees it in her mind now, though.

Izumo, blessedly whole, smiling with a sharpness that defined her. Smiling, with the exact same curve as the smile on her face as she died, as she held Shiemi's hands. Smiling, as she kissed Shiemi's brow. Smiling, as she told Shiemi two little words.

_It's okay._

Shiemi smiles too, despite her tears. She feels warm inside, beside the ache, and as light as a feather.

She wipes her face and dresses in one of her brightest kimonos. Her feet follow the familiar, if overgrown, path that she has not gone through in months. It is only a minute between leaving the house and arriving at the place that had absorbed so much grief for her. The flowers are beautiful and wild, untamed, and she almost cannot discern the grave marker from the carpet of color.

She stands there, unmoving, and allows herself to drift into nostalgia. She is no longer afraid that wretched bereavement will destroy the secret happiness she has always carried.

"I'm sorry, Izumo," she says finally. "I will always miss you and…I think I'll always love you, too. But, that's okay—I'm okay. I'm sorry for taking so long. I hope you find peace, wherever you are, and…"

Her voice trails off. She almost afraid to say it. To let go.

She shakes her head. Letting go doesn't mean forgetting, she knows. Izumo would surely want her to. She can almost see it now. A woman, about her height, with her friend's features fully bloomed. The woman crosses her arms, rolls her burgundy eyes, and mouths 'finally'.

"…and good-bye, Izumo."

In the following silence Shiemi takes the first deep breath she's had in years.

It feels good.

She exhales slowly, a smile on her face, and begins to make her way back home.

There's a lot to do she, knows. A mother to reconcile with and friends to pull back together. Another friend to find. And more work yet on herself. In the end, perhaps some bridges will remained burned, but there is always hope for a new one over the ashes.

 _I will start_ , she thinks _, with Renzo_.

**Author's Note:**

> poppy - consolation  
> geranium - secret love  
> marigolds - grief  
> primroses - I can't live without you


End file.
